


3 Mc.

by grumpygrahams



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Thigh sex, early, kinda.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-29
Updated: 2014-12-29
Packaged: 2018-03-04 03:35:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2907860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpygrahams/pseuds/grumpygrahams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock wakes John up early Christmas Day for a little present.</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 Mc.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [asettledsky](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=asettledsky).



John turns over and finds Sherlock staring at him, his arms propped beneath his head as the sterling eyes no doubtingly calculate and deduce every little possible detail about John. About his life, his sleep, his stress. John didn’t exactly know how Sherlock’s mind worked, even with the man sitting him down and explain, ‘Like a library’ with tossed words like ‘card catalogue’ and ‘don’t be daft’, so he merely settled on believing in the age old response – it just does. His mind just does things; just works the way Sherlock wants it too. And now that mind was on him.

John always felt the scrutiny of Sherlock’s gaze, more often than not, when he was turned away from him. Whether he was making tea or fetching the paper, he inevitably found the heavy set of eyes on his backside, against his neck, and he let those moments be taken. After the progression of their relationship, however, he would pick on Sherlock and tease him for those lingering gazes. He enjoyed they way the other man’s cheeks flushed, sometimes down to his neck. 

But now in the early morning those eyes were not shielded by shy thoughts or nonsense deductions. The gaze was still as sharp as it ever was but was edged with a softer look, one of happiness that Sherlock so dearly tried to hide from him. John stretched out, arms coming above his head, back arching off of Sherlock’s mattress, the blankets bunching up around his hips and he almost regret the decision as cold air hit his bare chest. He turned to his side, mirroring Sherlock’s position and smiles.

“Good morning.” John whispers, afraid to disrupt the secrecy of their early morning meeting. Sherlock ‘hms’ for a moment.

“It is Christmas.”

John strains a moment to look over Sherlock’s shoulder at the small bell clock on the nightstand and the glaring red letters affirm Sherlock’s statement. It also affirms that it is three o’clock in the morning. John lets out a little yawn, stretching again only to settle in to the blankets, pulling them back up over his own shoulders. Sherlock shifts closer, too.

“Merry Christmas, then.”

“Merry Christmas, John.”

The exchanges were polite, formal, if not sleepier than anything, and John felt his eyes begin to slip shut again. The warmth shared between two bodies lulled him easily and he was almost so far gone back into slumber that he hardly registered the long fingers that wrapped around his wrist, stroking the inside, moving upwards to press into his palm before they pressed fully against his own pads. His eyes cracked open to look at Sherlock. 

His breaths came out a little more shallow, his pupils dilated. Simple cues that Sherlock told John once upon a time about. Cues that signaled arousal, excitement, nervousness, a slew of emotions that could be caused in both good and bad situations. John was most certain this was a good one.

He moved slowly, turning his hand into Sherlock’s to the point where they could interlace their fingers and he pulled himself closer, flush against he lanky man, pressing up into the long, lean lines of his body. Sherlock let out a small noise from the back of his throat, an almost keening need that echoed in the small room. 

John reached between them, letting his free hand wander down to find Sherlock already hard, his cock straining against the cotton of his undershorts. John took him in hand, letting his fingers curl around him through the thin fabric, stroking him in a teasing, feathery touch, one that made Sherlock arch up and into him, pressing them closer, chest to chest. The needed to have his own name fall from Sherlock’s lips grew and he made quick work to slip his hand beneath the elastic band of the shorts, bunching them down on his hips and enough to pull Sherlock free.

John felt the blood rush to his own groin as he slipped his thumb over the head of Sherlock, feeling it slick over the soft velvety skin as it smeared the small bit of cum that already leaked from him. 

“You could of just asked…” John breathed against Sherlock’s neck with a slight chuckle as he let his fingers curl again, stroking downwards, fingers splaying at the very base of Sherlock’s pelvis, pushing his hips down before he stroked back up again, thumb again rubbing against the head, down the seam. Sherlock jolted from the sensitive touch, his hands grappling at John’s shoulders. 

“I didn’t want –“

“Oh, don’t lie. You demand things all to often.” John cut him off, untangling their hands so he could push his underwear down. He took both of them in hand, his hips snapping to rock against Sherlock, cocks rubbing together in a friction that both desperately needed.

“John – I need…” It was a quiet plea and John allowed it to tumble forth, allowed Sherlock to roll to his side, kicking his underwear off completely as John did the same. His hands ran up Sherlock’s back, soothing the muscles that jumped beneath his touch as Sherlock dug in the nightstand and produced the small bottle of lubrication. John noted they would need a new one soon and added the tally to the mental grocery list. That and milk.

He uncapped it with a flick of his thumb and pressed himself against Sherlock, his length slipping against the crease of Sherlock’s rear. His lips were hot against his ear as he breathed softly, tongue flicking out to wet the skin.

“Press your thighs together, Sherlock. Get nice and tight for me, yeah?”

He coated his fingers liberally, sliding them between Sherlock’s legs, coating them with the slick, fingers grazing the heavy weight of his balls, making him shudder.. He let out a breath as he tossed the bottle aside, rubbing the extra along his cock before pressing himself against the tight press of Sherlock’s thighs, slipping between them. 

“Fuck –“

John wrapped an arm around Sherlock’s stomach, taking him in hand again and stroking in time with his own rutting, his hips rolling into Sherlock, cock slipping between his thighs again and again. The time between these moments became less and less as Sherlock became more comfortable with their relationship, whatever it was. 

Flat mate. Friend. Lover.

Sherlock pushed back against him, eagerly, wriggling against him as he covered John’s hand with his own, helping him set the pace, making him stroke to his own liking instead of the light strokes he was doing. They were still learning, still testing each others bodies, the taste of their skin, the twitch of muscle and the way they fit together. How they made it all work – together.

“John, please…”

John twisted his wrist as Sherlock’s fingers flexed over his own, palm sliding across the tip of Sherlock’s cock the way Sherlock had once showed him and it earned him a low moan, deep and shocking. He did it again and it made the other buck forward. 

“I’m here, Sherlock. I’m here. Come one.” His lips pressed a kiss to the back of Sherlock’s neck as he languidly fucked between Sherlock’s pressed thighs, slowing his own movements only to concentrate on the swivel of his hand, the bend of his wrist as he waited to feel Sherlock clench against him, the feel the muscles spasm and quake.

A grunt vibrated through Sherlock’s chest, making John shudder and it was a notion, a little crumb given to the cause. John quickened his pace, let out his own breath of relief as he felt Sherlock spill over, coating his fingers and the sheets. He felt Sherlock go lax only for a moment before he tightened his thighs again, a tightness around John’s cock.

He set his hands against Sherlock’s hips, pulling him tight, fingers gripping hard enough to leave bruises in the morning. Perhaps some day Sherlock would let him set his teeth to skin, to let him mark the flesh in reds and purples and blues. Until then he would take what he could.

When Sherlock’s hand came to cup the head of John’s own cock as he pushed through his legs, bucking against him frantically. 

“God – Sherlock…”

He spilled out with another drop of the name from his lips, coating Sherlock’s hand much like the other did to him only Sherlock cupped it, catching much of the seed in his palm. John watched with a lucid fascination as he brought it to his lips, pink tongue lapping out at the semen. John stretched out beside him, wiping at Sherlock’s thighs with the sheet.

“What do I taste like?”

Sherlock tasted again, eyes lighting. 

“Sweeter than last week. I believe the change in your diet, the increased intake in fruits, has made an improvement. I believe more data will need to be collected to make an accurate analysis. Perhaps samples of your semen will –“

“No – no. You are not collecting my jizz in a jar.” John’s hand covered his eyes, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“What if I help collect it?”

A hum of thought before John flipped the blanket back of his stomach.

“Maybe.”

He ignored the sounds of Sherlock pulling out a small notebook, scribbling in it his notes on taste and consistency. John was used to the quirks of the man and this was hardly a surprise. 

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock.”

“Mmm. Merry Christmas.”

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was a gift in the 2k14 Exchangelock for asettledsky. I hope you enjoy it, dear!


End file.
